


Disciplinary Discrepancy

by reapertownusa



Series: Disciplinary Discrepancy [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Corporal Punishment, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-20
Updated: 2011-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:51:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reapertownusa/pseuds/reapertownusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of his dad’s death, Dean is self destructing and a post hunt discussion reveals that there is a lot Sam doesn’t know about Dean and their dad. Sam uses the new information to try to break through Dean’s barriers and help his brother to heal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disciplinary Discrepancy

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Rough, consensual adult spanking and discussion of / implied severe past parental strapping of a child both as a minor and adult with mental abuse (Stockholm syndrome-esque) undertones.
> 
> Author's Note: This is an old, mostly unedited story - my first SPN CP fic and one of my first SPN fics period - I'm not editing it at this point because I'd end up rewriting the whole thing, but am posting it here to accompany the newer stories in the series.

Dean wished he’d never let Sam talk him into taking this weird ass case. Sam had sold him on the assurance that they were going after some kinky chick ghost that had a thing for reddening the asses of apartment occupants. It had sounded good for a laugh, and would have been if Sam’s gutter brain theory had been right, but it hadn’t been like that. 

For starters, it had been a dude’s spirit and there hadn’t been anything kinky about it. Sam had deemed the spirit to be the ghost of an overzealous dick with a belt and had spouted off some lecture about child abuse and oppressive fathers. It was the last thing Dean needed right now.

Sam may not have understood why Dean had told him to shut the hell up, but at least it had worked. Sam had kept his mouth shut about it while they’d gone on to close the case with a simple salt and burn.

The only thing Dean needed was a way to wipe it all from his memory, which was when he’d suggested celebrating. What they were celebrating he had no damn clue, but Sam hadn’t asked so Dean didn’t bother to come up with some crap excuse for lining up the empty beer bottles on the table of their dingy motel room. The only problem was that he hadn’t exactly thought this all the way through, while Sam obviously had.

It wasn’t until his liquor lubricated lips slipped that Dean realized he was the only one with the collection of empty bottles. Not that he cared at this point. He didn’t even remember what he’d said to put that funky look on Sam’s face. 

“Dad never spanked us,” Sam said. 

Dean chuckled, genuinely amused that his brother was really that dense. “Not you, and just be thankful for that. Man, when Dad got swinging...”

Dean shook off the thought and returned to the quickly disappearing remains of his last bottle of beer. 

Sam rolled his eyes and took another sip from his own beer. “You really are drunk. Dad never spanked you either.” 

“Okay. Whatever.” Dean shrugged. If that was what Sam wanted to believe, it was no difference to him. “So I’m thinking tomorrow we...” 

“Oh, no you don’t,” Sam interrupted as he set down his beer. He leaned forward and narrowed his gaze on Dean. “Dad never spanked you. Right, Dean?” 

“It wasn’t your ass, what’s it matter?” 

“If it doesn’t matter then just answer the question,” Sam said. 

Dean took a final swig and turned his attention to the scratches etched into the tabletop. This was the last conversation he wanted to be having after the fit Sam had thrown this afternoon on the subject, but he sucked at lying to Sam even when he was sober. He needed to change the subject. If only he could think of a different subject. 

“Dean, did Dad hit you?” 

By that annoyingly over-concerned tone Dean could tell that Sam already knew the answer. There was nothing wrong with what Dad had done, but Sam would go and blow it out of proportion. Dean wasn’t up to arguing about Dad right now. He still had to say something.

“Only when I screwed up.” 

It was a simple enough answer and would’ve been enough for anyone else. But he was talking to the kid who had gotten in their father’s face because he’d thought Dad should pull his punches when he sparred with him. Sam never did get it.

Confusion knitted Sam’s brow. “But...you were the perfect son.” 

Dean scoffed. His brother really was blind as a bat or just flat out delusional. “Yeah, you thought so, but I fucked up plenty. When I did, I got my ass busted for it. It’s not like I didn’t deserved it.” 

“That’s not fair.” 

Dean laughed. “Welcome to life, Sammy. When we screw up, people get hurt. People die. That ain’t fair, but that’s reality.” 

“Yeah, when _we_ screw up. But he never touched me. Why’d he spank you?” 

“Because you would’ve cried like a little girl.” 

“Dean, I’m serious.” 

“So am I.” The defensive smirk had faded from Dean’s lips. He didn’t know why Sam couldn’t wrap his thick head around the way things worked. The answer was obvious. “You were my responsibility.” 

“So if I got in trouble…” 

“It came out of my ass. Who the hell cares?” 

“God, Dean...how can you say that? I care. I can’t believe I didn’t know Dad hit you.” 

“Oh, please,” Dean groaned. “Dude, it’s not like he beat me. He just used a little leather motivation. You know what a pain in the ass I am.” 

“Leather? That’s why...” Dean wanted to slap the shocked look off his little brother’s face as the world’s smartest idiot finally put together the pieces. “Dad hit you with a belt?” 

“Blow me, Sam.” 

“How often?” 

“How often should you blow me?” Sam glared daggers and Dean rocked back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t know. It’s not like I wrote it down in my fucking diary. Why the hell are you freaking out about this?”

“Probably for the same reason you never told me.” 

“Why the hell would I’ve told you?”

Hurt flashed over Sam’s eyes. “Because I’m your brother, Dean. All your life you’ve been protecting me. You don’t think I would’ve wanted the chance to protect you?” 

“Protect me?” Dean asked. “From what? My own damn screw ups?” 

“From Dad. All those times he took you for a drive and you came back limping. That was it, wasn’t it? It was the only time you two left me alone and I thought...oh, God. I knew Dad was a jerk, but...” 

“Don’t. Don’t you even dare,” Dean growled. “It wasn’t like that. I knew the consequences. He was trying his damnedest to keep us alive and if I jeopardized that I sure as hell deserved to get whipped for it.” 

“Then so did I.” 

“Is this like some kind of freaky jealousy thing?” It wasn’t like he really cared. He was just ready for this conversation to be over. “Look, Dad ain’t around to hand out the stripes anymore so it’s pretty much a non-issue.” 

“He had no right to treat you like that,” Sam said. “You deserved better.” 

“And I got better, whenever I kept my act together. Anytime I pushed him that far, I deserved a hell of a lot more than he’d ever laid on me.” 

Sam shook his head. His eyes were filled with uncertainty as he looked up from the table. “Dean...did he hit you for things I did?” 

“I wasn’t your damn whipping boy. It was only if I didn’t do my job.” 

“But you it was your job to watch me?” Sam asked.

“Well, yeah.”

“So if you didn’t stop me from disobeying one of Dad’s orders you deserved to beaten? Is that seriously what you think?”

Dean released a weary sigh. This was the same damn argument they’d had earlier, but now it was about him and Dad, which just made it a hundred times worse. At least this time around Dean could back his side up with personal experience without fumbling to keep quiet about the truth.

“Getting your ass beat isn’t the same as getting beaten,” Dean said. “It’s different.” 

“How?” 

It was presented as an honest question, not some smart ass reply. His brother was such a freak. Only Mr. Logic would want him draw a diagram or write an essay detailing the specifics of a beating versus a strapping. Sam could damn well look it up on his computer. 

“We’re done talking about this.”

“I just want to understand,” Sam said.

“Then go pickup a parenting book.” 

“You’re serious? Dean, there’s not a parenting book on the planet that’s gonna tell a father to take a leather belt to his son, especially not for something the other one did.” 

“It was never about you, Sam.” 

“It should’ve been.” 

“Well, it wasn’t.” 

His brother finally shut up. For a moment, Dean thought he’d finally gotten Sam to drop it, but when he looked up he saw the gears still turning in his brother’s head. Dean tried to coax a few rogue drops out of the bottom of the whiskey bottle he’d cleaned up half way through the beers. 

“Just tell me exactly what he did,” Sam said. 

Dean slammed the bottle back down on the table. “No.” 

“I just don’t get it, Dean. I mean, it was bad enough when you were defending Dad for always talking down to you, but this...?” 

“I’m not defending him! What he did doesn’t need defending. You weren’t even there. You don’t know what happened.” 

“Exactly! I don’t know what happened because whatever it was, he thought he had to hide it. Dad knew this was wrong, Dean.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“What?”

“Dude, it wasn’t wrong. It was just loud. You wallop someone with leather, hell, with anything – the man had a hand like a brick – it’s loud. In these cheap ass, thin-walled motel rooms the whole damn building hears it. Aside from being embarrassing as hell, it tends to draw attention.” 

“Seriously, Dean? That’s a pretty lame ass excuse even for you. How loud could it really be?” 

“It’s not a dull like a fist. I don’t know...” Giving up on the empty whiskey bottle, and out of beer, Dean took out his flask and knocked it back in the vague hope that there were some remains in the bottom. No joy. “I guess maybe it just sounds louder when it’s your own bare ass it’s hitting.” 

“He made you take your pants off? He didn’t...?” 

“Oh come on, Sam!” Dean spat. “This is Dad we’re talking about. Dude, what the hell’s wrong with you?” 

“Hey, don’t look at me. I’m not the one trying to explain why I was dropping my pants in front of Dad.” 

“Believe me, if Dad told you to drop your pants, you damn well did it.” 

“I just don’t get why he’d make you do that.” 

“It’s humiliating.” 

“Uh...whose side are you arguing?”

Dean opted for silence, hoping that Sam would get the message and just go away. He didn’t.

“Okay,” Sam continued. “So I guess you’re going to tell me that was the whole point?”

“No...sort of.” Hell was freezing over before he was going to sit here and explain the process of submission to his brother. At least that wasn’t all there was to it. “Pants don’t stop the bruising, but denim does a damn good job absorbing the sting. Boxers not so much, but still...so bare skin and leather. It’s real damn loud. Once it’s really being laid on it’s not like you can keep your mouth shut either.” 

“You’d scream?” 

“I didn’t scream. I just made...loud, manly groaning sounds and...stuff.” 

“You cried like a little girl,” Sam teased gently. 

“Shut up,” Dean warned, but chuckled despite himself. 

Dean knew Sam hadn’t actually thought it was funny. He was just trying to trick Dean into thinking this was some casual conversation. Valiant effort, but Dean wasn’t that drunk. 

“So you’d go off somewhere and you’d talk about what he thought you did and...what was going to happen.” 

Dean shook his head. “No talking. We drove, eventually he’d stop and we’d get out. Didn’t need to talk about it. I always knew when I’d screwed up bad enough to deserve one of those drives.” 

Sam’s frown deepened, like Dean needed any more disapproving looks from his brother. “So Dad would take you for a drive and pull over on some side road. Neither of you would say anything, you’d undress and he’d just start hitting you?” 

“Stop saying he hit me! This was something he did for me, not to me. Hell, sometimes I’d go out in the car and wait for him to take me for the drive. I even drove a couple of times...on the way out, anyway. It wasn’t like he wanted to do it, but we both knew I needed it.” 

There was obviously a disagreement to that on the tip of Sam’s tongue, but Dean’s half pissed off, half pleading look seemed to be enough to stop Sam’s rebuttal. His brother sat silently for a long moment before leaning back in his chair. 

“Okay, then what happened when he stopped the car?” Sam asked. 

“I’d get out and get the strop out of the trunk.” 

“Dad beat you with a razor strop?” Sam seemed to pick up on Dean’s silent warning and tried to force his expression to neutral. “I thought you said he used his belt.” 

“Sure, when I was a kid, but the strop worked better.” 

Dean ignored the question in Sam’s eyes. Dad had started with the belt not long after he’d started spanking him. Maybe the thought of Dad taking a belt to a kid offended Sam’s delicate sensibilities, but Dean hadn’t actually been a kid. A few slaps with a hand were for civilians who didn’t have lives depending on them. 

“’Better’?” Sam asked quietly. 

At first Dean wasn’t sure why Sam was talking so softly, but then realized his brother was only matching the tone of Dean’s own distant voice. Eyeing Sam’s abandoned beer, Dean reached across the table and snatched it. Sam didn’t so much as comment when Dean knocked back a swig. Finally, Dean had to answer because he couldn’t take anymore of Sam’s expectant eyes staring at him. 

“It was heavier, thicker and easier to control, I guess.” 

“It hurt more.”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, but Dad could make anything hurt.” 

Sam’s fist clenched at his side. Dean knew Sam would take a shot at Dad now if he could. His brother didn’t understand and maybe he never could, but Dean met Sam’s eyes and silently begged him to not make it a fight.

Finally, Sam nodded. “So he made you give him the strop and then you undressed?”

“And you say I’m the twisted one. No, I didn’t undress. I just dropped my pants, he’d lay into me over the trunk until it was enough and then it was over.” 

“Afterwards you talked.” 

“No. Damn it, Sammy, what’s with you and talking? The only times I really couldn’t stand it was when he did talk. Not being able to sit is nothing to having to hear it laid out in words. The strop was better. It was just something that needed to be done. He did it, we moved on. It was never a big deal.” 

“It was so much not a big deal that you were terrified of him.” 

“I was never afraid of Dad.” 

“Wait...” Sam sat back up straight in his chair. “You said you drove.” 

“Later on, yeah. So?” 

“So this was still happening when you were at least sixteen.” 

“Well, yeah. He didn’t let me drive for that until I was older.” 

”Older than sixteen?” Sam asked. “How old were you?” 

“I don’t know. I was maybe twenty the first time I drove.” 

“Twenty? This was still going on when you were twenty?”

“Well, yeah.”

“How old were the last time this happened?”

“Twenty-six.”

Sam’s mouth hanged open like he was in shock. Dean shifted in his seat and tried to work it through his head why Sam looked like he was going to have a stroke about his age. It wasn’t like they were talking about Dad bending him over his knee and setting him in the corner for timeout.

“So right before you came and found me? Dean...that’s.… After I left for Stanford...did he beat you?” 

“He never beat me.” 

“You spank someone with your hand, you beat them with a strop.” 

“Whatever. You mean because you left? No.” 

“But then, was he still...whatever you want to call it?” 

“He tried not to, because he was pissed off all the time, but he was worried too. He didn’t want to lose me too, you know? So if I got reckless, I’d get my ass whipped, I shaped up. It worked out for everyone.” 

“Everyone except for you.” 

“Hey, I turned out all right.” 

“Do you have any idea how distorted your view of yourself is?” 

“Thank you, Dr. Phil...” 

“Dad never told you that you did a good job, he just strapped you if he didn’t think you did good enough. He made you think you were the only one that should be punished, that I was your responsibility...” 

“You are.” 

“I was his son, his responsibility.” 

“I didn’t mind it.” 

“What?” 

“Taking care of you...I wanted to. And the strapping, I didn’t mind it either. I mean it hurt like a royal son of bitch, but I didn’t care about the pain. Don’t hate Dad for this. Hate him for anything else you want, but not for this. I could’ve fought back, but...I wanted it.” 

“How can you say that you wanted Dad to beat you?” 

“Sure as hell beat the alternative.” 

“Which was what?” 

“Him not caring enough to do it. He did it because he was scared of what I’d do if he didn’t step in and he wanted to know that you’d be safe. He was protecting us, Sam.” 

“He was protecting me, he was hurting you. You never did anything but what he asked and he asked more of you than he ever should have.” 

“No. I did plenty of stupid ass shit and this helped. It just let me move on…you wouldn’t understand.” 

“I want to.” 

“Well, I’m sorry, Sam. It’s not something I can explain.” 

“Do you still have it?” 

“What?” 

“The strop. Did you keep it?” 

Dean shot Sam a baffled look, but nodded. “Yeah. I got it. Why?”

“I want to see it.” 

Leaning back in his chair, Dean shot his brother a look. “Okay...weird much?” 

“You grew up with this and I want to understand.” 

“Dude, you are reading way too much into this.” 

“Am I?” Dean ran a hand over his face, but didn’t answer. “Then let’s go for a drive.” 

Dean’s heart skipped a beat at the words. His arms crossed over his chest, eyeing his brother suspiciously. He had no idea what the hell Sam was up to. 

“I’m too wasted to drive,” Dean replied, half honestly. 

Technically, he was way too drunk to drive. If Sam had said they were going anywhere else he probably would do it anyway, but that’s why he was the one that had gotten his ass handed to him growing up. Sam didn’t do stupid crap like that. 

Sam held out his hand for the car keys. “You’ve been drinking too,” Dean said as he stared at the waiting hand. 

By the look on Sam’s face it was obvious that his brother could tell that Dean was grasping for any lame excuse he could come up with. His racing mind was trying to avoid whatever Sam had planned, but not to the extent that objecting to it even crossed his mind. 

“We always drink, Dean. I didn’t even finish one beer. You’re the one that polished off that six pack and the whiskey. That’s how I knew this hunt was bothering you.” 

“It’s not bothering me.” 

“You just thought you’d shoot for alcohol poisoning for fun?” 

“I’m barely even drunk.” That was a lie. There was no way in hell he would have laid out everything he had for Sam sober no matter how much of a persistent little shit his brother could be. “I was having fun. You’re the one that made it weird and personal,” Dean grumbled as he grudgingly dropped the keys into Sam’s hands, ignoring the fact that his own hand was unsteady and hoping Sam would do the same. 

It was amazing how stupid little things could dredge up the past like it was happening now. Something like following a stubborn Winchester out the door of a crappy hotel knowing there was going to be a strop involved. It didn’t matter that no one was going to use it. He got that familiar old twist in his gut all the same. It made the sensation of Dad’s absence all the more profound. 

Even once they settled into the car and Sam began to drive neither of them spoke. Usually Dean would have a compulsive need to break the silence that otherwise reminded him too much of those late night drives, but for once he wanted the quiet. He wanted to remember Dad. 

~~~

Sam kept glancing nervously towards his brother. Dean didn’t seem to notice that he was watching him. His brother looked a million miles away and was humming erratically to himself. After a few minutes Sam raised a brow to Dean. 

“Did you always hum?” he asked. 

“What?” Dean’s reply was laced with raw nerves. Dean could lie all he wanted, but Sam knew Dean was nowhere near to the ‘okay’ he claimed to be. 

“When Dad drove you, did you always hum?” 

“No,” he replied in annoyance, but then Dean seemed to actually consider the question. Sam was sure that Dean hadn’t even realized he was doing it. “I don’t know. Maybe when I was older he let me. I never noticed.” 

“Once you told me humming calmed you down.” 

“Yeah, I guess it does.” 

“Do you want put a Metallica tape in?” 

“No. I want you to tell me what the hell you think you’re doing.” He gave no reply. “Sam?” 

They’d been driving for ten minutes or so when Sam pulled down a dirt road to a dead end street and shut off the Impala’s rumbling engine. Dean shifted anxiously in the seat beside him, eyes focused forward. 

“This is when you’d get out of the car?” Dean silently nodded in reply. “Show it to me.” 

Sam finally got Dean to meet his eyes. “Why?” his brother asked. “I know, you want to understand, but if you think I’m gonna hit you...” 

“So when Dad did it, it wasn’t hitting, but if you were going to do it to me it would be?” 

“No…I mean...you didn’t do anything.” There was a long pause before Dean drew in a sharp breath. “You didn’t get Dad killed.” 

Sam’s heart clenched at the desperate words. It took everything he had to bite back his instinctual reply of ‘you didn’t either’ because he’d tried that, again and again and that wasn’t working. Dean was still digging his pain deeper and deeper and Sam couldn’t risk contradicting the closest thing he had gotten to an honest statement about Dad out of his brother. 

“You said there was no talking, but it helped you move on.” Dean nodded. “And I’ve been trying to talk to you, man, and it’s not working. I’m losing you...you’re scaring the hell out of me, Dean. And I think maybe I get it now.” 

Sam broke off for a moment trying to gauge Dean’s reaction, trying to see if he was totally out of line here. His brother’s face was neutral, but there was a vulnerable quality to the expression that made Dean look more reachable than Sam had remembered seeing him for a long time. 

“If you keep going like this, you’re going to get yourself killed,” Sam continued. “The last think I want to do is hurt you, but if you tell me this is easier for you, that you think this is right, I’ll do it.” 

Dean didn’t say a word as he held his hand out for the keys. Sam’s stomach was twisting in knots as he watched Dean’s strangely tight movements. He handed over the keys and Dean opened his door, stepping out into the crisp evening. Dean walked around to the back of the car and Sam quietly followed after his brother. When he joined Dean at the now open trunk, his brother jumped slightly, but resumed what he was doing without looking at Sam. 

After rooting around a bit, from one of the back slots Dean pulled out a heavy piece of leather. Dean gripped it for a moment before placing it into Sam’s hand. It was heavy, solid and practically new. It didn’t look like it had ever been used to smooth out a blade. He could only assume that Dad had bought this just to punish Dean with. Sam was angry as he held it loosely in his palms. Angry at Dad, at what this had all done to Dean, and angrier with himself for suggesting to do it again. 

“I’m sorry, Dean. This was wrong.” 

Sam went to toss the offending strop back into the trunk, but Dean stopped him. His brother pressed his fingers closed around the strop’s hand and shut the lid to the trunk. 

“Please, Sam,” Dean softly pleaded. “You said you wanted to understand.” 

“I do...but this won’t help.” 

“It already is.” 

“This isn’t going to make you better.” 

“No, probably not. Nothing will,” Dean replied with a defeated honesty that shocked Sam. 

Slowly Dean’s erratic behavior was starting to make sense. Dean really had given up and Sam didn’t know how to convince Dean that he couldn’t do that. Sam was only considering this because he had run out of other options, but he wasn’t going to do it if it wasn’t going to help. 

“Then what’s the point? Me beating you...it’s not going to help me understand you.” 

“It’s not me you’re getting. It’s not me I need you to get. It’s Dad.” 

“What?” 

“It’s Dad you need to understand...that I need you to understand. Why’d you bring me out here – because you wanted to hurt me?” 

“God no, Dean. I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.” 

“You don’t want me to be stupid and reckless and you wanna give me something solid to move pass so I can let go of the guilt?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Like if I screwed up on a hunt or was kicking myself over screwing up watching my kid brother.” 

“He never should have put that on you.” 

“Maybe not, but he did and this was my one reprieve, my one way of knowing I got what I deserved.” 

“You never deserved to be punished.” 

In Dean’s desperate eyes, Sam could see that the strop hadn’t been the punishment for Dean. His brother did the punishing to himself, in his head, and for Dean this was a physical acknowledgement. It really was a release. 

Sam reluctantly repositioned the strop in his hand, silently confirming that he intended to use it. Or try. He didn’t even know how this worked. He didn’t understand how Dad had taken this thing and hit Dean with it. 

He watched with a bewildered awe as Dean wordlessly shrugged off his jacket and slipped off his flannel, setting them aside on the trunk and leaving only his t-shirt on. Dean reached to undo the buckle on his belt. Sam clutched Dean’s wrist to stop him. 

“Maybe you can just leave them on,” Sam suggested hopefully, but Dean shook his head. “Okay.” 

Sam let go of Dean’s wrist, his gut flipping as he watched Dean push his jeans down. His brow furrowed when he noticed that his brother had left his boxers in place. It wasn’t that he minded. If anything he appreciated it, but there was something off about it, something that didn’t fit with everything else Dean was doing. 

“Why’d you only take down your jeans?” he finally forced himself to ask. The words were awkward in his mouth. It was a question he’d never thought he’d hear himself asking his brother. 

“Because you’re my brother and this is weird enough already.” The tone of Dean’s voice didn’t ring true. It wasn’t snarky as the words would imply, it was more like Dean was avoiding something else. 

“You were naked for Dad and you said it wasn’t like that.” 

“It wasn’t, but you’re obviously a perv. I’m protecting the merchandise.” 

“You said the boxers didn’t make that much of a difference...you know physically.” 

“It stings less with them on. What’s your problem? You don’t think you can land a hit through a little cotton?” 

Sam knew damn well that Dean wasn’t leaving them on to cut down on the pain. Dean wanted this to hurt. “Dad made you take them off so he could see what he was doing to you, didn’t he?” Dean didn’t answer and Sam knew that he had figured out what Dean was intending. “You don’t want me to see how much I’m hurting you.” Dean’s continued silence was all the answer he needed. “Lose the boxers or get back in the car, Dean.” 

With a grumble that Sam couldn’t quite make out, Dean pushed his boxers down pass his hips and let them join his jeans. A shiver ran through Dean before he leaned forward and braced his unsteady palms against the Impala’s trunk. His legs spread as wide as the jeans pooled around his ankles would allow. It was obviously a practiced stance and all Sam could wonder was how many times Dean had positioned himself waiting for the much harder hand of their Dad to reign down on him. 

Dean’s muscles were taught, expecting. His pale backside was firmly out, positioned to take nothing but the full brunt of the hits. This wasn’t the Dean Sam knew. His Dean had told him never to lay down and take a beating. All the while his brother had been stripping down to obediently wait in a defenseless position for the person he loved and respected most in the world to beat him. Sam ought to smack Dean just for being such a damn hypocrite but right now it was just one more emotion warring in Sam’s head. 

Sam worried at his lower lip. He didn’t know what to do. There was no way he could just start hitting his brother, not like this. “How would he start?” Sam finally forced himself to ask. 

Even in the dim light Sam could see Dean swallow hard, his eyes squeezing close. When he spoke Sam didn’t recognize the calculated tone any more than he recognized the submissive posture and accepting attitude. 

“You can start with the most padding until you get used to it then you can move down. Overlap, throw some in the same spot. Think about how I sit, lay the most there.” 

It was Sam’s turn to swallow hard. If he went through with this, tomorrow Dean wasn’t going to be able to sit. Dad had always made him, if anything Sam thought he remembered that Dean had sat a lot, squirming uncomfortably in chairs after the nights he had came back limping. Tomorrow it would be because of him. They’d be at some junk diner and Dean would be pretending it didn’t kill him to sit in the crappy wooden chairs. 

“How hard?” 

“As hard as you want. Your hardest won’t touch what I’ve had. Dad didn’t like to repeat himself. He made it count.” 

“I don’t want to repeat myself either.” 

“Good.” In the light of the full moon he almost thought he saw a hint of a smirk cross Dean’s worried eyes. “Then knock it out of the park.” 

Sam’s hands tightened on the strop's handle, but he still couldn’t bring it down. “I think the first one’s the hardest,” Dean offered with a glance over his shoulder. 

“For me.” 

“The last one’s the hardest for me.” 

Sam tried to understand that, wasn’t sure that he really wanted to, but then realized he needed to know something else. 

“How many?” 

“Don’t count. You’ll know when it’s enough.” 

“How?” 

“You just will. Sam, the only thing harder than it ending is waiting for it to start.” 

“Oh. Sorry.” 

Dean’s head dropped down again and all Sam could see was the tightness of his brother’s hands, the knowing tensing of his ass, the uncomfortable shifting of his legs. Dean was thrown around on hunts almost nightly and didn’t blink, but looked anxious now. Sam wondered how much this really hurt, wondered even more if Dean’s fidgeting even had anything to do with the knowledge that pain was coming. 

His brother had to be thinking back to so many other times and places, so many other things. There was also the fact that he was standing half naked in front of his brother on a private road. Looking at Dean propped up against the trunk, Sam wasn’t sure that he would ever think of the Impala in the same way. He was afraid that the same would be true for Dean until he realized this had always been part of Dean’s memories with the recently rebuilt car. 

Sam experimentally swung the strop across the center of Dean’s waiting ass. Dean sucked a sharp breath in surprise but didn’t so much as squirm. It was just a swat for placement, to try to get the hang of it. Not that Sam wanted to get a hang of this. 

Physically it wasn’t as awkward to wield as Sam had imagined. If anything it was creeping Sam out how perfect the strop was for this. The leather was heavy enough to carry momentum, but light enough to swing freely. It was just long enough to snap fully over the width of Dean’s rear and bite at the sides of his thighs with a single stroke. The handle on the razor strop was almost comfortable to hold. 

His stomach twisted at the thought. It shouldn’t be that comfortable to beat someone, especially not family. Worse than the physical, Sam couldn’t sort out what he was feeling. He struggled to balance the fact that he was going to hurt Dean, which was wrong, with the fact that he knew Dean needed it. To Sam this was about physical pain, but he was pretty sure for Dean it was something else entirely and he really did want to understand. He wanted to be able to save his brother. 

The next strike was firmer, laid over roughly the same spot. Dean didn’t so much as take in a heavy breath that time. Sam was confident enough that he could control his aim that he didn’t pull any punches with the third lash, landing it just below the previous. The stroke knocked a grunt from Dean whose position shifted slightly, but he was instantly back in place, shoulders firmly set and his head hung as he awaited the next. 

Sam shook his head slightly to himself. This was insane, but telling Dean that, backing out now, wasn’t going to get him what he needed out of his brother. It wasn’t going to get him what he needed to stop Dean from destroying himself. Dean’s shifting grew impatient, probably sensing Sam’s doubts. There wasn’t a thing about him Dean couldn’t read and Sam was partially just still in shock that he didn’t know this about his brother. 

To assure Dean that Sam was going to carry through, he again struck the leather against the firmly tensed muscles, directly below the previous mark and layered a follow up overlapping the two previous. Dean bit back a moan, his backside writhing for a moment before again becoming eerily still and accepting. 

Sam leaned forward, looking closer at Dean’s exposed backside. It wasn’t that he had any particular desire to inspect his brother’s bare ass, but he only had the light of the moon filtering down through the trees and it wasn’t like he had ever done this before. He didn’t have any real concept of what kind of damage he was or wasn’t inflicting. 

He was trying to read off of Dean’s body language, but Dean’s physical reactions were hardly an accurate indicator of pain. His brother would claim to be fine while using his hands to hold his own guts in. From the light Sam had to work with it looked as if there was only a blush across the skin, but that did nothing to reassure him. 

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much?” Sam asked worriedly. 

His brother nodded stiffly. “You swing like a girl,” Dean muttered. “Stop tickling me and make it count.” 

The tone was challenging and Sam knew Dean was trying to goad him into laying it on hard. That wasn’t going to work, but if Dean needed it harder, Sam would give it to him harder. He hesitated for a moment and then laid three hard swung strokes down in rapid succession, each with a resounding crack that was far too disconcerting to Sam’s ears. 

The carefully aimed hits had kept in mind Dean’s guidance of aiming where it counted. By the third lash Dean’s breath was rapid and his hands were clutching the trunk tightly for support. All the same he kept his ass up, if anything Dean was pushing out to meet the blows. 

“You don’t have to hold back,” Dean huffed at him, apparently feeling Sam’s eyes back on him. “It’s supposed to welt.” 

Sam was sure that wasn’t true. He was hitting hard and all he had so far managed to do with the strop was leave mildly red stripes across Dean’s pale skin. Nothing he had laid down had any hopes of raising the skin. He wasn’t even sure how to do that with a piece of leather this wide. Dean was right on one account. Sam was capable of striking a hell of a lot harder, but it felt like he was hitting too hard already. 

Maybe it was because Dean was right about the sound. Dean had just been wrong about which sound hurt the most. The loud snap of smooth leather against flesh was seriously disturbing, but it was the pained murmurs that the hits knocked from Dean that were tearing at him. 

His brother was again shifting his hips edgily and Sam knew it was too late to call this off. He laid a particularly solid strike along the crease where Dean’s thighs connected to his ass. The noisy slap echoed through the night as the leather dug into the tender flesh. Dean yelped, nearly climbing on top of the trunk. Sam instantly opened his mouth to apologize, but was too stunned at how quickly Dean had jumped back into position. His brother’s tight rear muscles twitched in pain and anticipation. 

Sam tried to find the words to apologize, but Dean spoke first. “More like that.” 

The simple request made Sam’s stomach churn. He watched with a twisted curiosity at the delayed reaction in the coloring of the skin, which was starting to take on a much redder appearance. Sam couldn’t imagine how much Dean’s ass had to be throbbing right now. Sam thought it should be enough, but he knew it wasn’t. Dean wasn’t looking for some slaps that would dissipate by morning. 

Dean needed enough to break down his walls so he could start to let go. If Sam couldn’t do that for his brother, Dean would find someone or something else a lot more deadly that could. Sam hated to see every pained cringe on Dean’s partially hidden face, to hear every hitch breath and know that he was causing it, but the reality was that this strap of leather wasn’t going to kill Dean. And there was also something else that struck Sam. 

His brother trusted him implicitly. Dean was trusting him with a secret he’d kept for his entire life. His brother was finally trusting him to help him move on. In return, Sam had to trust Dean to tell him when it was enough. He would let his brother push it to the limits only because Sam was here to make sure it didn’t go too far. 

Settling in, Sam stopped hesitating and began to really work the strop over Dean’s reddening flesh. Each stroke landed soundly, working from the top of Dean’s ass down to his upper thighs, letting the lashes give special attention to where the two met. Sam fell into a rhythm and Dean’s hips soon bucked at each stroke, moaning at the harsh contact. 

Sam knew he was getting closer to what Dean needed when his brother’s hips began to try to pull in to avoid the brunt of the strikes. It took everything Sam had not to lesson the hits on that account. He continued to follow through and Dean stubbornly struggled to hold his ass firmly out to greet the swooshing leather at full force. 

“Wait,” Dean finally gasped. 

Sam breathed a sigh of relief and for the first time in a few minutes he really got a look at his brother. Dean’s twitching backside was a solid mass of red that looked too sore for Sam to even think about. 

His hand was shaking nearly as much as Dean’s now trembling legs. He thought it was over, but Sam instead found himself shaking his head disapprovingly at what Dean was doing. Dean had been using his arms to brace himself, just leaning on the trunk, which gave plenty of leeway for Dean to tuck his hips if the pain was too much. 

Now Dean had himself draped over the trunk, the front of his thighs pressed tight against the cold steel. In that position there was no way for Dean to deflect the blows or to lessen them with the sway of his hips. Dean was breathing in short hitched breaths, his cheek laying flat against the trunk, his head turned away from Sam. 

“No, Dean.” 

“Sam. Please. Just...please.” It was an unsteady whisper. Too desperate. 

It was too far. Dean was too drunk to make a clear judgment call here. Sam knew Dean wasn’t so drunk that he didn’t know what they were doing here, but his brother was drunk enough to throw inhibition out the window. Dean wanted Sam to beat him like Dad had, but he wouldn’t go that far. He couldn’t. Sam put a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder and Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. 

At that Sam could imagine Dad’s hand setting on Dean’s back to steady him against the smooth metal and he knew what Dean wanted. Sam found himself doing the same, placing his hand tentatively on the small of Dean’s back. He almost thought he saw Dean nod approvingly. Dean moved one of his arms that he had been using to steady himself so that he could bury his head in it. His brother didn’t realize that Sam was going to lesson the force he was applying, but he was pretty sure at this point Dean didn’t care. 

Sam tested the new position with a ginger slap, which he followed up with a real strike, not as hard as before but solid enough. With his hand resting on Dean he felt the impact reverberate through his brother’s body, felt the shudder in Dean’s rigid muscles as the delayed reaction of the pain came. 

The thought occurred to him that with Dean’s ridiculous level of pain tolerance, if he played it soft they were going to be out here all night. But this wasn’t just about the pain and Dean had said that the rare times Dad had talked had cut him the deepest. Sam told himself he wasn’t trying to break Dean, but that wasn’t entirely true. While he wasn’t trying to break his brother, he was trying to break the wall Dean had built around himself. 

His hand pinned Dean to the trunk while he sent a strong blow to where he got the most reaction out of his brother. Dean grunted and squirmed hard under his hold, his leg kicking out reflexively. Sam immediately followed the strike with two more to the same inflamed spot. Dean struggled to bite back a cry, his chest heaving. Sam fought to blink the tears from his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Dean.” 

“Do it again,” came Dean’s terse, breathless reply. “Keep doing it.” 

But the strokes weren’t what Sam was apologizing for. It was for what he was going to do next. He took in a steadying breath, though when he spoke Sam’s words were still shaky. 

“And you deserve it...because you killed Dad?” 

He made the question in the statement clear with his tone, but by the stifled sound Dean made, he wasn’t sure that his brother had heard it as a question or maybe Dean thought Sam was agreeing with the stupid assertion. Either way, Dean nodded earnestly in agreement. 

Sam clenched his jaw. He let Dean think that for several strong, overlapping, low placed blows. The strikes seared red across the back of Dean’s tender thighs. Despite his efforts to remain still, Dean struggled for a moment, cursing under his breath before again resigning and lying still over the trunk. 

“You didn’t kill Dad, Dean. He gave his life for you.” 

Sam couldn’t see Dean’s face but he could feel the quaking of his brother’s shoulders. Dean shook his head in denial. 

“You know it’s true. He gave his life for you and you’re trying to throw it away.” Sam could barely speak the words, could feel that Dean was holding his breath. “Do you think that’s what he wanted? Do you think that’s fair?” 

Sam had lost the fight to holding back his own tears that now silently streaked his face as he cracked the leather down to punctuate the words. 

“You say it’s your job to protect me and you’re trying to get yourself killed, trying to leave me alone.” 

His brother remained defiantly tensed and Sam knew Dean was only holding out because he didn’t think it had been enough. Reluctantly Sam let the strop drive the words home, snapping down full blows across Dean’s steadied ass until his brother couldn’t help but twist and writhe under the force of the impact. Finally Dean let loose a muffled holler into his arm. Aside from a pained twitching, Dean fell limp under Sam’s grip. 

“I can’t lose you, Dean,” Sam’s voice broke as he stared down at his brother. 

Dean was frighteningly still before the first sob rocked his body. Sam quickly set the strop aside, his long arm reaching out to pull his collapsed brother to him. He gingerly lowered Dean to the ground with him, wincing in sympathy as his hand unintentionally brushed against the scorching heat of the raw skin on Dean’s backside. 

By the time Sam had steadied Dean, his brother’s entire body was shaking with the force of the sobs. It was something Dean had never before let him see and Sam wondered how many years of held back tears Dean was shedding now. He drew Dean in closer, clutching his trembling brother tightly, tears flowing freely down his own face as Dean’s tears soaked the shoulder of his jacket. 

Dean and him were different people. Dad had understood that. “He loved you, Dean. So do I.” 

It seemed like an eternity before Dean had quieted and even after he did, Dean had stayed still in Sam’s arms for a long moment before pulling away slightly. With a trembling hand, Dean sloppily tried to push away the tears that were blurring his eyes and used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe his nose clean. 

“Thanks, Sammy,” the words were barely audible but the sincerity of the tone coming from Dean was breathtaking. 

“You’re not going to be thanking me tomorrow,” Sam said as he helped his unsteady brother to his feet. 

Dean couldn’t bite back a pained groan as he got his legs back underneath himself. Sam couldn’t imagine the physical sensation, but he caught one last look at Dean’s fiery red rear before his brother stiffly pulled the rough denim of his jeans back over the abused skin. 

Aside from sniffling, Dean didn’t make a sound as he slid back into his flannel and jacket. He finally grasped the strop before opening the trunk. For a moment Dean held it in his hand before placing it inside, but not burying it in the back this time. 

“Yeah, I will,” he finally replied quietly. He closed the trunk and made his way to the front passenger side door. 

“You should lie down in the back,” Sam suggested. 

Dean shook his head. “I earned these licks, I can damn well sit on them.” 

They were unquestionably Dad’s words and explained all the time Dean had spent sitting. There was still a lot of this Sam didn’t understand, but he knew better than to try as he watched his brother tenderly lowered himself into the car seat, squirming uncomfortably just like Sam had remembered. Sam wiped the moisture from his own cheeks before joining his brother in the car. 

“You get that this wasn’t punishment for what happened to Dad, right Dean?” 

“Yeah. It was for me being an idiot and not thinking what me dying would do to you.” 

“Like you said, it wasn’t about me.“ That wasn’t what it was about for Sam, not at all, but if that was what was going to keep Dean going then it was close enough for now. “Either way, you better plan on sticking around because I really do need you.” 

“Oh I’m gonna be a pain your ass for a long damn time,” Dean promised, a smile almost touching his tear streaked cheeks. 

“Good, but right now I’m just worried about the pain in your ass.” 

“I’ve had worse. You really do swing like a girl.” Dean paused before his tone turned sincere, “Thanks for beating some sense into my ass, Sammy.” 

“Sure, Dean. You just better be careful. I know where that thing is and I know how to use it,” Sam teased. 

Dean smirked. “I’m counting on it.” Sam saw the cringe of pain that twisted Dean’s features as his brother shifted in his seat. “But I think I’m gonna try to stay out of trouble for a little while.”


End file.
